


The Path I Must Trudge

by Rama



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brothels, Crying, Feelings, Forced Prostitution, Guilt, Humiliation, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced oral sex, M/M, Makeup, Making Up, Misunderstandings, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rama/pseuds/Rama
Summary: “So” he said at last, averting his eyes from the boy with some effort. “This is where you have been all these months”.Maybe not the best thing to say, judging by the way Jaskier stiffened at his words, but he could no longer bear the awkward silence.“Yeah”, muttered Jaskier. “One has to make a living somehow, after all”.Set after the events of episode 06 - Rare Species.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 216





	The Path I Must Trudge

**Author's Note:**

> It's the first time I write in English, so please be kind!  
> Also, this needs a beta badly - in case anyone is interested!

Geralt sat on the edge of the bed, trying his best not to think, trying not to inhale too deeply. The air in the room was filled with the smell of sex and the sweat of dozens of different people, and he didn’t want to recognize the smell of _him_ among the others. He had laid his swords on the floor, along with the rest of his small luggage, but he was still fully clothed.

Finally, the wooden door creaked open, and a young woman appeared. “Sir?” she called, a bit hesitant. “I brought you the one you asked for”.

The door opened a little more, revealing a boy standing at her side. His head was low, his eyes cast on the floor. But it was _him_ , and at his sight, Geralt’s throat constricted. He made an unintelligible _hmm_.

“We didn’t have him washed or prepared, since you said you were in a hurry and it didn’t matter” continued the woman, shooting a glance toward the boy’s disheveled hair and crumpled shirt. “Of course we could still clean him up a bit, if you want. There’s a tub in the bathroom next door…”

“No”, interrupted Geralt, voice hoarse. “It’s alright”.

At the sound of his words, the boy’s head jerked up, and their eyes met. The witcher saw the sudden panic creeping in the other’s face – the cheeks paled, the eyes widened with shock and betrayal, showing the cornflower blue shade he remembered so well. The woman unceremoniously shoved him inside the room, making him stumble a little, and he turned his gaze back on the floor.

“Very good then. Have a good night”. The woman took a step back, then, as for an afterthought, she added, “Just one thing, sir. If you desire to take it out on him, you may, but please spare his fingers. He’s quite a talent with the lute”.

Geralt hummed again, and she left, closing the door after herself.

The room was silent now, and filled with an unpleasant tension. Geralt didn’t move from his spot on the bed, and the boy stood still beside the door, keeping his eyes stubbornly away from the witcher.

Geralt was the first to break the silence. “Jaskier”.

The boy seemed to suppress a light shiver, but kept his face blank. “Geralt”. His voice was shaking, too.

Geralt sighed lightly, and for a moment he just looked at Jaskier. He was thinner and paler than he remembered, and the frail look was highlighted by his sad, hunched posture. He was hugging himself, as if he felt self-conscious about the bare chest showing through the open shirt, and his shoulders were slumped down.

He wore breeches and a shirt – both not exactly clean - but no doublet, and he was barefoot. His eyes had been rimmed with black kohl, a bit smudged on the edges, and there was a touch of rouge on his otherwise pale cheeks. The lips were redder than usual, too.

Geralt wondered sadly why they kept putting that kind of makeup on whores. No one could ever mistake that fake red for an actual sign of healthy complexion. It just made them look miserable and cheap. But then again, maybe that was exactly the look they were aiming at.

Geralt realized suddenly that Jaskier was probably feeling his stare heavy on himself, and it was distressing him. His face was starting to flush, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. Geralt saw a lump bobbing in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“So” he said at last, averting his eyes from the boy with some effort. “This is where you have been all these months”.

Maybe not the best thing to say, judging by the way Jaskier stiffened at his words, but he could no longer bear the awkward silence.

“Yeah”, muttered Jaskier. “One has to make a living somehow, after all”.

“Hmm”, said Geralt, bringing his gaze back on him. “Why as a whore, though? And not as a bard?”

He saw the boy’s lips tremble a bit before he caught himself and pressed them harder together. He didn’t answer at once, and with a sharp pang of guilt Geralt realized that he was trying not to cry.

“Life’s not easy for bards, Geralt” said Jaskier eventually. His voice was thick with unshed tears, but he struggled to keep his tone even. “Especially for those with no friends to care for them. To… to protect them. Our job is to please the audience, after all, and not every customer is satisfied with just songs. But don’t worry, I’m quite used to this. That’s how I made a living for quite some time, before we met. I thought those times were gone, but life proved me wrong, I guess. I found out that a cute face and a lean body can be way more useful than a soft singing voice and a knack for writing rhymes”.

Geralt didn’t know what to reply. Seeing Jaskier in that state – helpless, bitter, hurt, burning with humiliation – and knowing that it was just his fault, that he had failed him…

He gulped.

“I’m sorry” he offered, knowing full well that the three words didn’t convey but a fraction of what he felt.

Jaskier shrugged, still not looking at him.

Another silence stretched between them, during which they both could hear the moans and thuds coming from the room next to theirs.

“Ok, let’s over with it”, said Jaskier eventually, and so abruptly that Geralt almost flinched. He let out a shaking sigh, then slowly straightened his arms down his sides, so that his bare chest was visible between the hems of the open shirt. He looked like bringing himself to make that simple motion had requested a lot of effort.

Then he took off his shirt, letting it fall on the floor.

“How much did you pay? Two hundred orens for my mouth? Or three hundred for my ass?”

His voice broke on the last words, and Geralt saw a small tear – tinged black by the kohl – running down Jaskier’s right cheek.

“Five hundred, actually” growled the witcher. “For a whole night with you”.

Jaskier froze. His blue eyes went wide, while the little bit of color left on his cheeks vanished. Geralt could clearly smell his fear now – even stronger than the shame. Jaskier swallowed again, then nodded.

“Cool”, he murmured. “Quite expensive, but you really get to do everything you want, so I guess it’s a good deal. Don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed”.

As he spoke, he stepped out of his breeches – which, Geralt noted, were the last piece of clothing he had on. Naked, Jaskier looked even more fragile and pale and young. There were a few faint marks – old bruises? – on his hips and arms. The witcher throat constricted again.

“I’m sorry” he repeated. “For… for what happened. For what I said”.

“No big deal”, replied Jaskier after a moment. “You were right. I was no more than an annoying, troublesome burden to you. Dumping me was the most sensible thing to do”. He wiped away another dark tear with a nervous jerk of the hand. “But I thought you wished to never see me again. That’s why I am so… surprised to see you here”.

“I’ve been looking for you”, said Geralt. “It took me quite a while to track you down”.

Jaskier nodded slowly. He stood still for a bit, bearing nervously the gaze of the witcher on his naked body. His thin arms trembled along his sides, and he was tense with the effort of keeping them straight and not raising them to cover himself.

Instead, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders – a small, pathetic gesture in which Geralt could see all the former bravery of his friend – and finally looked directly at Geralt. The makeup stood out a lot on his white face.

“So, how do you want me for starters? Should I get on my knees? That’ll keep me silent for a while, at least. I bet you thought about doing it sometimes back then, when I won’t stop blabbering”.

Geralt sighed. “No”.

Jaskier looked almost hurt. He bit the inside of his cheeks. “Then Molly was right, then” he murmured. “She told me you looked in a bad mood, and didn’t ask for me to be prepared. I guess you really wish to beat the shit out of me, don’t you?”

His small chest was now heaving, the breathing fast and shallow, even if the face was still carefully blank.

“Jaskier, I’m not…” started Geralt, but the boy cut in. “Please don’t say anything”, he said, voice a bit shaking again. “Just get over with it. I’ll endure it – I have to, it’s all I am worthy of nowadays – just please, don’t _talk_. It makes me… it makes me remember…” his voice trailed off. Then he lifted his trembling hands, and watched them for some moments, slowly turning them in the dim light.

“And, by the way, you can also break my fingers, if you want. After all, it’s not like I’m using them for anything pleasurable, these days”.

He broke into a small sob, and Geralt could not stand it any longer.

“Stop this nonsense” he said, standing up. Jaskier took a step back instinctively, then caught himself and steeled for whatever was coming.

“I am going to take you out of here”.

Jaskier blinked. “You are _what?”_

Geralt hesitated. He wanted so bad to reach for him, hug him, but he knew that, in Jaskier’s present condition, it’d be uncomfortable for both of them. In the end he settled for putting a hand on his shoulder, as lightly as he could.

Jaskier flinched all the same at the touch.

“Jaskier, please, let me explain. I’ve spent months looking for you. I apologize for what I did and what I said. I’m going to rescue you from this damn place. I want you to stay with me… if you want it too” he ended, a bit short of breath. He wasn’t accustomed to talk so much.

Jaskier looked completely at a loss about what was happening. Geralt felt relieved – at least, the confusion had taken the place of fear and shame. It made him look more like the Jaskier of the old days, despite all the nakedness, the bruises and the cheap makeup.

“But… but why would you?” he asked. “I don’t deserve it. Or are you going to sell me at the first slave market or…”

“You do deserve it, Jaskier” cut off Geralt, squeezing his shoulder gently. “I just want you to be my friend. I care for you”.

The boy flushed again, but it was different from before – this was embarrassment, not shame. “Do you?”

Geralt nodded, and wiped away the tears on Jaskier’s face with a delicate sweep of this thumb.

“I’ll… I’ll put my clothes back on, then”, said Jaskier tentatively, a faint smile forming on his lips.

The witcher nodded again. “I’ll deal with the innkeeper. We’ll be on our way before dawn. And don’t worry” he smiled a bit, “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have all the time”.


End file.
